


Experimentation

by sublightsleeper



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublightsleeper/pseuds/sublightsleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now…are we testing your resistance, or the number of times you can achieve orgasm before your body finally puts a stop to it?” It’s so clinical, the words leaving Dr. Well’s mouth. But Barry still has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it already. </p>
<p>“N-number.” Harrison nods, watching him with those bright eyes of his, and says nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experimentation

It’s the way he buttons his coat. 

It’s one of those inconsequential little gestures that should have no meaning, but Dr. Wells buttons his suit jacket like he’s putting on a show, all long, dexterous fingers and a slip of the thumb. 

This was a man who was used to playing to the crowd, and he’d been on stage for so much of his life that there were times that Barry wondered if he knew he was still playing the part. 

It’s the way he runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip.

This Wells, the real Wells doesn’t have to look up at him. They’re eye to eye, on the level, and every time Harrison slides the tip of his tongue along the curve of his bottom lip, Barry finds himself mimicking the gesture, driven by instinct alone. 

He knows what that touch feels like, he knows the softness of that lip, the teasing flick of that tongue. 

Dr. Wells’ very neutral expression keeps quiet, but the light in his eyes says it all. This show is for Barry’s eyes only. 

It’s only a matter of time before Barry decides he can put on a show too. 

His apartment isn’t exactly a haven of scientific advancement, but Barry knows that erasing too much time from the cameras is going to raise questions. And this was going to take time. 

He sends a text that says my place, want to work on an experiment and need your help.

Thankfully, Harrison doesn’t question it. He just shows up with a ball cap pulled low and a pen in his shirt pocket, which is so delightfully nerdy that it almost derails Barry from The Plan. 

No, he’s not getting derailed from The Plan. 

“Um. Yeah. This way?” It isn’t supposed to come out a question, but Dr. Wells follows him into the bedroom with a quirked brow and a quiet after you, Mr. Allen that sets Barry’s blood on fire. 

Okay. He was good. He could do this.

“I’ve been thinking. About…me. About the science of…About my record.” Breathe, Barry. Just breathe. That voice in the back of his head should raise his hackles. All it does is raise his heart rate. 

“I want to do some testing. With my refractory period.” The light goes on in Harrison’s eyes, and he pulls up a chair near the bedside, but still a comfortable distance away. 

“By all means. You handle the physical aspect of the testing, and I’ll take notes.” That pen is out of his shirt pocket and Harrison pulls a small notebook from his pocket. No matter how even his voice is, Barry can see the flush rising on the back of his neck. 

It’s what gives him the courage to strip down to his boxers and socks, and climb into bed. 

It starts with fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers. Barry is already worked up, hard enough that even the light stroking of his own fingers down the length is enough to have his toes curling. 

“Now…are we testing your resistance, or the number of times you can achieve orgasm before your body finally puts a stop to it?” It’s so clinical, the words leaving Dr. Well’s mouth. But Barry still has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it already. 

“N-number.” Harrison nods, watching him with those bright eyes of his, and says nothing else. 

Let the show begin.

The first one is easy, and it happens inside the confines of his boxers. All it takes is a few firm strokes while he’s able to see Dr. Wells out of the corner of his eye, and Barry is shuddering, spilling himself against the blue plaid of his cotton boxers. 

And as much as he wants to keep hiding, it’s sticky and uncomfortable, and probably not all that hot to watch. 

Without ever taking his hand off of himself, Barry slides his boxers down to his thighs and fists himself slowly, the waves of a subpar orgasm fading as the blood rushed and filled him up again, nice and hard and straining against his closed fist. 

This time, he takes it just a little bit slower. The slickness helps, the squelching sound not so much. Barry can feel that heat building in his testicles, the throbbing that makes it that much harder to go slow. 

The second one takes him by surprise. Harrison clears his throat and Barry looks up on instinct, catching those blue eyes for an instant before he’s spilling over his fingers, eyes clamped shut. 

He wipes his fingers on the bed sheets, resolve wavering. 

“Again, Mr. Allen.” Harrison’s voice is rich and low, gravelly in a way Barry has never heard it before. 

Just like that, he’s back in the game, mind clouding with building desire as he watches Dr. Wells, lip bitten between his teeth. The man was staring at him so intently, pen and paper forgotten and blank in his hands. 

The third and the fourth are within a minute of each other, Barry’s hips lifting off of the sheets as the first choked sound makes it’s way past lips pressed tightly together in a failed attempt to contain it.

His nerve endings are on fire, legs shaking. There’s sweat trickling down the nape of his neck and Barry doesn’t need prompting to keep going now. He wants it, he needs it, needs to do anything and everything he can to keep Harrison looking at him like that, like he’s something to be devoured. 

The fifth locks his knees and leaves Barry shuddering against the sheets, flat on his back with his world spinning on dizzily. “I can never really make it past-”

The words are punched out of the way by the feel of stronger fingers wrapped around his cock, and Barry can’t stop the mewling moan as he scrabbles against the bed sheets, number six ripped loose by the sheer presence of Harrison Wells touching him. 

“God!” It’s an exclamation, a plea and sob all at once, because Harrison’s grip is tight and strong, working him over with quickness. Number seven has the sheets sticky beneath him where his ass keeps lifting up off of the bed, his fingers clutching futilely to the bottom of the headboard to try and keep himself together. 

“Oh god. Ohgohohgod don’t stop please don’t stop oh god-” Number nine feels like the universe is coming apart at the seams and Dr. Wells has his other hand planted against Barry’s groin to try and keep him on the mattress through his convulsions. 

“One more Barry, come on. One more. You can do it.” Harrison’s voice is raw with want, and Barry wants to give him anything he wants, wants to beg for every filthy thing he’s ever thought about or seen in porn, but he can barely breathe and he’s got no control over his voice, over the steadily increasing keening cries as he’s shaking. 

But then Harrison is on the bed, sitting on Barry’s thighs to keep him still, terrifyingly intense as he worked Barry’s swollen, red cock over with both fists, grip tightening to the borderline of pain. 

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

It becomes a mantra as he tries to shy away from touch that has become too intensive, touch that makes him feel like his nerves have been sawed in half and then cauterized. Everything hurts and feels like heaven all at the same time.

“Yes you can. Look at me, Barry. Look at me.” Somehow, Barry manages to pry his eyes open. Harrison is a vision above him, hair wild and his mouth a stark red from where he’s been biting at his lips. “One more. For me. You can do this. Relax. Breathe.” Even as he speaks, his grip doesn’t slack and his pace doesn’t slow. “Now come for me.”

The world goes white at the edges. Lightning crackles along the arch of his neck where Barry strains, voice cracking as he finds his release, bucking so hard that Harrison nearly loses his balance. 

It’s the most intense feeling Barry has ever known. 

He is a shaking, shuddering, breathless mess when Harrison finally releases him, and there is no stopping the sob of relief to feel those hands along his shoulders, his sides, his hips. 

“Well done, Mr. Allen. Well done.”


End file.
